


The New Minister

by Marmosette



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Gould-Werrity, There are no small ministries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-21
Updated: 2012-04-21
Packaged: 2017-11-04 01:13:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/388024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marmosette/pseuds/Marmosette
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mycroft has to welcome a new bug. Who may not be all that welcome, but mostly this is about Mycroft the Fixer, the Enforcer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The New Minister

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Mycroft Holmes Appreciation Day! Well, 26 minutes late, but oh well.

Mycroft Holmes relaxed into his chair, his elbows resting on the arms, his fingers interlocked in front of his chest. Unfortunately, this was going to be fun.

The new minister across the desk from him, Adam Jones, adjusted his reading glasses, slid a few files around, and opened a new one. The sharp dome of his bald head parted his remaining ring of dark hair like a mountain parting clouds. It would be cruel to wonder if he had polished it specially for his first day in a new office. “Yes, I have it here. Holmes... I know that name from somewhere, don’t I?”

Mycroft smiled pleasantly. “Quite possibly. It’s not uncommon. You may have seen my brother Sherlock’s name in the papers. He’s an occasional consultant with the police.”

“Consultant.” The minister rolled the word across his tongue. “‘Sherlock’ and ‘Mycroft’. Strange names. German?”

“English. Old English.” He let that hang in the air, coaxing a distracted glance from the man but nothing more.

“No one’s doubting your loyalty; just an innocent enquiry. My father was interested in names and genealogies and so forth.”

“Specialising in western European and Celtic origins, yes.”

“Ah, so you’ve heard of him,” Jones said, looking up brightly.

Mycroft nodded toward the bookcase behind the man. “I’m sure he’d be honoured to have his books on the shelf behind his son the minister.” Another smile, this one just a little tighter, shorter.

“Oh, yes, yes of course.” Eyes back down on the file. Mycroft sighed quietly, rolling his eyes. “And I understand you’re here to instruct me on some obscure point of parliamentary etiquette to do with being a PS.”

“Officially, your title would be Parliamentary Under-Secretary of State. I don’t advise using the full abbreviation.”

Jones looked up at him, and removed his reading glasses. “It is still a position that deserves your respect.”

“Which it unreservedly has,” Mycroft said coolly. 

“I was PPS for -”

“Yes, and how do you feel you left things there?” Mycroft asked.

“What do you mean by that?”

“It was a mutual decision, as far as most are aware. More mutual on one side than the other, in fact.”

Jones leaned back in his chair and laughed a little. “You’re talking gibberish.”

“In an attempt to reach you, yes.” 

“That is not -”

“No.” Mycroft’s voice was quiet, almost under his breath, nearly a whisper. But there were things a tone of voice could never achieve, such as the sudden stillness of his face, the light of humour dying in his eyes, a small movement of his head. It would be wrong to call it a threat. It was not a show of force, either. The banter, the jovial façade of the friendly civil servant passing on a note from his masters was the façade, the show. That was the act. This was simply the revelation of sheer, raw, brutal power. And the fact that Mycroft Holmes had it, and the new Minister Adam Jones did not. 

“I understand that you thought you were being clever. Don’t write something down until you’re absolutely sure about it. It makes sense. From a certain point of view.”

“Ohh, I see,” Jones said slowly, working his lips as if trying to hide a smile. “This is about Glennery’s defense contract, isn’t it? You’re one of those who believe I was part of some fantastical cover-up. In spite of the Freedom of Information Act.”

“Good Lord, no,” Mycroft said, his voice devoid of inflection, as toneless as a robot. “You’ll find that the things I believe, Minister, are only the true ones. What you were part of covered up precisely nothing. Your lack of documentation opened the way for speculation. As we have nothing to hand over in response to the requests, there is no evidence. The government is made to look guilty, and of course we cannot prove a negative. Certainly not with a complete lack of evidence.”

“And you feel that I embarrassed the government? _I?_ At the risk of sounding facetious, I am one man, and surely the government did quite well embarrassing itself.”

Mycroft did not sneer. It was a point of principle. It was the expression of a bully. It showed contempt, and if someone was strong enough to oppose him effectively, then belittling his opponent was lying. If the argument was too one-sided, then it would require great gentleness to avoid crushing them. If he needed to sneer, then the battle was already lost. And yet, sometimes, the urge to sneer was so deliciously tempting.

“It is possible, Minister, that at the time you were not aware that who you were representing on the eighth of September in 2009 was in fact the head of MI6, and not, in fact, the Secretary of State. And perhaps, at the time, not noting the meeting in your official diary seemed like the wise thing to do. But when you had a second meeting nine months later,” he went on, holding the man’s gaze, his voice soft and deliberate as he watched the man’s pulse leap in his carotid, “which was also noticed in some ways but not noted in others, then you caused a problem. And that is why when you threw your hat in the ring and won the seat, the Prime Minister is not over-fervent in her thanks.”

Jones chewed this over for a long moment. He didn’t need to look away from Mycroft in order to do it, either, which was, he had to admit, a little impressive. The man didn’t need any more spurring, though, so Mycroft had no reason to make it difficult to face him. He didn’t frown, even if he also didn’t smile, which would merely have been condescending, in any case. 

“So this is what she meant.”

Mycroft blinked. “I’m sorry?”

“PS here, and in the next reshuffle, she might consider me for Culture, Media, and Sport.”

“It’s a portfolio. Better with than without.”

“I did win the seat.”

“As did forty-three other MPs. Keep in mind that over 600 seats in Parliament are won at every election, by someone or another, and have been for a few hundred years. It’s really not all that rare. Thousands have done it.”

“And yet if it were that simple, surely you would have done it,” Jones said, folding his hands on his desk and looking for all the world as if the thought had only just occurred to him. “It’s just an election. Have you never considered standing?”

Mycroft smiled broadly and leaned forward, preparing to get to his feet. “Not really my thing.”

“Standing? No. There will always be a civil service, after all. But tell me - what did I do that so antagonised the PM?”

“You joined a political party.”

“I joined _hers,_ ” he shot back. “I won my seat. At least I’ve chosen a side.”

“Yes. You’re right. Choosing a side is the least thing you’ve done.” Mycroft pushed himself upright, looming over the man’s desk. “Before you ask, I don’t choose sides. I make them. And, just occasionally, I redistribute them.”

“So it’s true - the best I can hope for, even after all this, is Culture, Media, and Sport.”

 “With respect, Minister, there are no small government departments - only small ministers.” 

“Very witty.”

“The Olympics, BBC licensing, the internet, newspapers, blogs, the monarchy itself. Wield the power you have, and you shall be considered. She doesn’t make empty promises.”

“And what has she promised you, I wonder?”

Mycroft turned away, crossing the man’s office back to the door. “Nothing. But I fulfilled what I promised her.”

**Author's Note:**

> If you think it sounds suspiciously like they're talking about real things, they sort of are - http://www.craigmurray.org.uk/about-craig-murray/ was a key bit of research here. I may come back to this later on and add to it.


End file.
